An Account of Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha | Page 8

to the reality of this occurrence.]
If nearness of locality will justify a glance of the eye for a moment, to
an object not directly in the line of our pursuit, we might survey in
passing a bold projecting height, not far from the hill Genundewa,
marked by a legend which draws a tear from the eye of the dusky
warrior, or sends him away in a thoughtful mood, with a shade of
sadness upon his usually placid brow. The story is not of the same

character and is of a more recent date than that of the serpent, but is
said to be of great antiquity. It has been written with great beauty by
Col. Stone, and as we are authorized, we present it in his own language.
"During the wars of the Senecas and Algonquins of the north, a chief of
the latter was captured and carried to Genundewa, whereon a
fortification, consisting of a square without bastions, and surrounded by
palisades, was situated. The captive though young in years, was famed
for his prowess in the forest conflict, and nature had been bountiful to
his person in those gifts of strength and symmetry, which awaken
savage admiration. After a short debate he was condemned to die on the
following day, by the slow torture of empalement. While he was thus
lying in the cabin of death, a lodge devoted to condemned prisoners,
the daughter of the sachem brought him food, and struck with his
manly form and heroic bearing, resolved to save him or share his fate.
Her bold enterprise was favored by the uncertain light of the gray dawn,
while the solitary sentinel, weary of his night-watch, and forgetful of
his duty, was slumbering. Stealing with noiseless tread to the side of
the young captive, she cut the thongs wherewith his limbs were bound,
and besought him in breathless accents to follow her.
"The fugitives descended the hill by a wooded path conducting to the
lake; but ere they reached the water, an alarm whoop, wild and shrill,
was heard issuing from the waking guard. They tarried not, though
thorny vines and fallen timber obstructed their way. At length they
reached the smooth beach, and leaping into a canoe previously
provided by the considerate damsel, they plied the paddle vigorously,
steering for the opposite shore. Vain were their efforts. On the wind
came cries of rage, and the quick tramp of savage warriors, bounding
over rock and glen in fierce pursuit. The Algonquin with the reckless
daring of a young brave, sent back a yell of defiance, and soon after the
splash of oars was heard, and a dozen war canoes were cutting the
billows in their rear. The unfortunate lovers on landing, took a trail
leading in a western direction over the hills. The Algonquin, weakened
by unhealed wounds, followed his active guide up the aclivity, with
panting heart and flagging pace; while his enemies, with the grim old
sachem at their head, drew nearer and nearer. At length finding further

attempts at flight useless, she diverged from the trail, and conducted
her lover to a table-crested rock that projected over a ravine or gulf, one
hundred and fifty feet in depth, the bottom of which was strewed with
misshapen rocks, scattered in rude confusion. With hearts nerved to a
high resolve, the hapless pair awaited the arrival of their yelling
pursuers. Conspicuous by his eagle plume, towering form and scowling
brow, the daughter soon descried her inexorable sire, leaping from crag
to crag below her. He paused abruptly when his fiery eye rested on the
objects of his pursuit. Notching an arrow on the string of his tried and
unerring bow, he raised his sinewy arms--but ere the missile was sent,
Wun-nut-hay, the Beautiful, interposed her form between her father and
his victim. In wild appealing tones she entreated her sire to spare the
young chieftain, assuring him that they would leap together from the
precipice rather than be separated. The stern old man, deaf to her
supplication, and disregarding her menace, ordered his followers to
seize the fugitive. Warrior after warrior darted up the rock, but on
reaching the platform, at the moment when they were grasping to
clutch the young brave, the lovers, locked in fond embrace, flung
themselves
'From the steep rock, and perished.'
"The mangled bodies were buried in the bottom of the glen, beneath the
shade of everlasting rocks; and two small hollows, resembling sunken
graves, are to this day pointed out to the curious traveler, as the burial
place of the lovers." It is a sweet, wild haunt, the sunbeams fall there
with softened radiance, and a brook near by gives out a complaining
murmur, as if mourning for the dead. [Footnote: Mr. Stone adds in a
note-- "This interesting